


Landscape In My Heart

by 6121AU



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Betrayal, Bittersweet, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forbidden Love, Heartbreak, Historical Romance, Hopeful Ending, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Jealousy, King - Freeform, Knight, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Partner Betrayal, Prequel, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6121AU/pseuds/6121AU
Summary: Time flies over, but leaves its shadow behind and teaches you that it waits for no one. Sometimes together, sometimes broken apart by fate, Park Chanyeol and Kim Jongdae face their fears in a time before the crown weighed heavy on Jongdae’s head and broke Chanyeol’s back.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Landscape In My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story that I’ve kept in my drafts for some time and decided to share it with you all. There isn’t any explicit scenes, violence and themes that can be challenging. (That’s great, right?) 
> 
> Many thanks for trying this short story and I hope to see you on my twitter @6121AU

They were riding in the early spring. Just two young squires enjoying their half day off, the first time they’d been able to escape the confines of the castle alone. Sehun was sick so unable to join their adventure. They raced through the small town and along the cliffs. Jongdae’s horse outstripped Chanyeol’s with ease but Chanyeol’s was a mare who should have retired long ago and Jongdae was the Prince.

They stopped overlooking some fearsome cliffs, the wind sharp but the sun warm. The blue of the sea broken by crested foamy waves and large white clouds making the sea’s surface almost black before the sun broke through and made it twinkle.

“We’ll never get anywhere with you riding that thing,” Jongdae complained. The sun-kissed his luscious black curls and his eyes laughed even as he moaned at Chanyeol.

“Tough, I can’t afford to make her lame,” Chanyeol said. “And she’s done me fine service.” He patted the chestnut’s neck.

“Leave her,” Jongdae said. “She’ll find her way home and we’ll ride further on Stone.” He had a point. They’d be able to travel faster on the bay gelding than they could on Chanyeol’s mare. Jongdae was sixteen, Chanyeol a year older, all long legs, lean muscles and beardless face.

Chanyeol slipped off his mare, tied her reins and stirrups carefully before smacking her backside and sending her home. She walked off in grateful amble. Jongdae held his hand out and wriggled forward on his saddle. Chanyeol placed a foot in the now empty stirrup and half jumped up behind him. The horse shifted under the added weight but remained happy. Jongdae grinned and Chanyeol wrapped his arms around the smaller male’s waist before Jongdae kicked his horse into an instant gallop. He leaned into Jongdae’s back as they raced along, the wind blowing into their faces. The power of the horse, the strength of Jongdae’s young body against Chanyeol’s own, the intoxication of their freedom made him laugh and shout for joy.

Finally, Jongdae slowed his great horse. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you do that,” he said.

Chanyeol pulled back and removed his arms from his waist, now they were walking. “Do what?”

“Laugh and whoop for joy, you hardly ever laugh. I like the way it sounds.”

“I do laugh,” Chanyeol said, knowing full well he didn’t.

“No, you train, you work and you study. You don’t laugh, you are so terrified of Sehun’s father sending you away you just keep your head down and you never play up,” Jongdae pointed out.

“It is not my place to antagonise, the Captain. I am here by his grace alone, your Highness.” Chanyeol’s fragile mood evaporated.

“Don’t do that, Chanyeol. I hate it even more when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Call me, Highness, or my Lord, or even worse, my Prince. I hate it and I hate being reminded of my duty.” His distress translated to his horse, Stone, who shifted under them and ground to a halt with neither of his riders giving firm instructions.

“Sorry, Jongdae. I didn’t mean…” he began.

A hand clasped his thigh, it was hot and firm. “I know you didn’t. Touchy subject for us both, our differences in station make it hard to be friends sometimes.” The Crown Prince and a bastard bred squire aspiring to knighthood.

Chanyeol slid off Stone to give the horse a breather and himself some distance. Jongdae followed suit and they walked quietly for a while. Chanyeol’s throat burned with the need to say something he’d been wanting to say for days, well weeks. Ever since Jongdae first arrived to the capital last autumn, to serve as squire before being knighted by his father.

Chanyeol didn’t talk that much and words were not his skill, not like they were for Sehun or Jongdae. He found his words in his sword. But the need to speak overwhelmed his ability to stem the flow.

“Jongdae.” The Prince stopped and looked at him. “I need to tell you something.”

Jongdae remained silent, a question in his eyes. Chanyeol licked his lips and dropped to one knee before Jongdae, bowing his head and holding out his hands. He hoped it would not be the last time.

“I know you are not my king, not yet and God willing, it will be many years before you replace your father, but I want you to understand. I swear my allegiance to you, Sire. I would beg you to consider me your first true vassal and know I will serve you and this kingdom all my days. I am worth nothing but the strength of my arm and my skill with a weapon. These, my undying loyalty and my belief in you as our Crown Prince, you will always have.”Chanyeol spoke, looking down.

He was so desperate to fit, to find a place, a life, a world in which he belonged and the day he saw Jongdae, Chanyeol knew he was the one. The latter owned him the moment their eyes met.

Jongdae’s hand closed over his. “Park Chanyeol, what are you doing?” his voice sounded breathless and Chanyeol looked up. His skin was pale, his brown eyes wide.

“I am trying to become your vassal, my Lord,” he said and fear gripped his heart. Jongdae’s rejection would send him over the edge of the cliff and down onto the dark rocks below. Chanyeol knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

“Do you also give me your heart, great knight of my realm?” Jongdae asked. Colour raced up his neck and made his cheeks glow. Emotions Chanyeol didn’t recognise shone deeply in Jongdae’s eyes.

“I will give you everything,” Chanyeol said, captured by those eyes as surely as the fly in the web. “My heart, my love, my body.”

Jongdae, still grasping his outstretched hands, knelt. Chanyeol frowned, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. One of his hands moved and brushed Chanyeol’s jaw.

“Your love?” Jongdae asked, the words a tentative sound.

Chanyeol had meant the love one brother in arms shares with another but Jongdae’s eyes spoke to him of something else, something forbidden and his young manhood woke to that steady gaze. Chanyeol had not been very successful with the girls in the castle and his Lordship tried to stop the squires playing in the town but he knew how a maid looked when she wanted a kiss.

Jongdae didn’t look like that, it was deeper, more intense and breathlessly passionate. He nodded, unable to speak.

The Prince smiled. “Will you promise to laugh a little more? For me?” he asked.

Chanyeol grinned. “I promise.”

“And you will always be my friend, not just a vassal?” Again the emotions deepened.

“It will be an honour to be counted as a friend,” Chanyeol’s heart soared to the screaming gulls overhead.

“Then, yes, Park Chanyeol, I accept you as my vassal, my first.”

They were very close and they bumped together as Stone walked straight into Jongdae, pushing him into Chanyeol. They rolled in springy damp grass, laughing at the silly horse who gazed at them confused. Chanyeol ended up over Jongdae but the Prince’s hand sat on the back of his neck.

“Kiss me,” Jongdae said and alarm shot through his eyes as if he’d not meant to say the words aloud.

Chanyeol froze, felt Jongdae’s body under him, the softness of Jongdae’s belly against his where their clothes had rucked up in the tussle.

“Jongdae...”

Jongdae pushed hard on his chest and rolled away. “Forget it, sorry.” He scrambled up and Chanyeol felt the latter’s pain wash over him.

Chanyeol made a grab for Jongdae’s leg and pulled him down. Air woofed from Jongdae’s lungs and he cursed. He yanked hard and being slightly older and stronger, he pulled Jongdae against him, pinning him down. He struggled and fought but Chanyeol held him, his weight and height forcing him into stillness.

Jongdae looked up defiant.

“Yes.” Chanyeol said.

He watched the Prince’s eyes widen in shock, then fear, then cautious joy. Chanyeol smiled, what little experience he had with girls meant he approached Jongdae. Those brown eyes focused on him as their lips touched with hesitant fear. It felt as if lightning coursed through him with that single touch. He kissed a little more firmly, testing the ground and Jongdae’s hands wove around his back. Chanyeol wanted more and opened his mouth a little, his tongue found Jongdae’s lips and before he knew what to do, they were clenched together in a passionate deep kiss. Far stronger than anything Chanyeol had shared with a woman.

The kiss ended as all joy does but he still lay over Jongdae. “I…” Chanyeol wanted to tell him. He really wanted to tell him.

“I know,” Jondgae said simply.

Chanyeol nodded, wordless again, his throat a painful mess of choked emotions. He rose off Jongdae’s body and helped him stand. Jongdae picked old heather from Chanyeol’s tangled hair and they retrieved Stone. They walked back to the castle and held hands most of the way. Sometimes they stopped to further explore that kiss but they rarely spoke. They never talked of their love that first summer. It just grew silently and with rare moments in which they were alone and safely hidden from prying eyes.

**A FEW YEARS LATER**

“If you aren’t going to eat that, I will,” Jongdae reached across Chanyeol’s arm and speared his meat with his knife.

“That’s mine,” Chanyeol muttered without real spirit.

Jongdae paused for a moment, watching him, brown-eyed gaze assessing and careful. “You haven’t eaten all day, are you sickening for something?”

“Nothing you need worry about,” he said poking at some bread.

He lowered the stolen meat to his plate. “What is it?” Jongdae’s voice held that gentle tone Chanyeol only remembered in his dreams.

Chanyeol looked at his hands sat on the rough table before him and wondered if he could confess the confusion of feelings inside his chest. What would Jongdae think? What would Jongdae say? Nothing, Jongdae would say nothing because Chanyeol would never confess.

“Nothing,” he muttered, the ache in his chest flaring white hot in denial.

Jongdae’s hand lay down his knife and lowered beneath the table. The other pages and squires around them were deep in their own conversations. The time off they had each day was too short for wasting. No one noticed Jongdae’s palm on his thigh and fingers digging into the firm muscle.

“Talk to me, you’ve been tense since my return,” Jongdae whispered.

Chanyeol looked into his eyes, dark brown and captivating him as a flame does a moth. As always, his promises of keeping his council dissolved in the face of Jongdae’s compassion. “You are to be king in a few weeks, months at most,” he whispered.

Jongdae closed his eyes, the sun blinking out for a moment. “But right now I am not,” he murmured. Their heads were close together, his breath mingling with Chanyeol’s. “I came back just as I promised.”

“Everything is to change, Jongdae. I am a squire, living on another’s generosity, I have nothing to offer you, I have nothing to offer anyone,” misery dripped from each word. Chanyeol hated to admit he lived on the generosity of others. He was the lowliest of Jongdae’s future knights.

“Chanyeol, when I am crowned I will knight you properly in front of the entire court and you will become the best of them, just as you are here. You will be my Champion. You know this. I will give you anything you need.” His words were earnest and honest. Jongdae was always honest with him.

“There is one thing you can give me, Jongdae, that I need right now,” he spoke with care, he could lose it all in one moment.

“What can I give my closest friend and ally?”

Chanyeol’s heart ached with the knowledge of the pain his words were going to cause. “You can give your consent to my marriage.”

The Prince froze. Chanyeol couldn’t hear him breathe. “Marriage,” Jongdae said maintaining his dignity with the practice of a courtly savant. His hand drew away from Chanyeol’s leg and returned to his wine cup. He slowly drank. “Who is the lucky girl or perhaps I don’t need to guess.” Chanyeol heard the shriek inside him though no one else would.

“She cares for me, Jongdae, but I need your permission to ask for her hand.” Chanyeol didn’t look at him, he didn’t have the courage. “It is what is expected, it’s what I’m permitted, all I am permitted and she will make a fine wife.” He chose his words with care, Jongdae had to know he wanted something different but could not give voice to those desperate passions.

“Is a wife what you want?” Jongdae asked, his voice straining. There were high points of colour on his cheeks.

“A wife is what I should have,” Chanyeol’s words were hollow, and he watched Jongdae nod too fast in agreement.

“Yes, every man should have a wife, it is what is expected.” Jongdae smiled, but it felt like the smile of the damned. This smile Chanyeol knew, it was the wistful one. The one Jongdae used when trying to hold his burdens to his heart and not scream the world down. Jongdae didn’t want to be king. He wanted them to ride together into a future to seek their fortunes. These were the stories Jongdae concocted for a world they’d never have.

“Jongdae…” the name left Chanyeol’s lips on a whisper of agony.

“Don’t,” he ordered, the tenderness of a moment before too delicate to survive the pain in his heart. Chanyeol watched him gather himself together and present the face of a prince. “When do you wish to ask her?”

“Tomorrow, I’m meeting her at noon on the cliffs before she leaves with her family,” Chanyeol said, fighting his need to weep.

“Do you think she will say yes?” Jongdae asked.

He shrugged. “She has told me she cares for me.”

Over the last few months, while Jongdae had been dealing with his dying father, Chanyeol had learned to survive without him and the woman in question had at first been a distraction but now she said she cared a great deal. At least those were the words she’d been giving Chanyeol and he’d horded them like the gold they were.

“Yoojung is a beautiful girl,” Jongdae said quietly.

They were silent for the rest of the meal.

After their evening chores, Chanyeol made his final rounds of the castle and stood on the wall overlooking the pounding sea. He’d been happier there than anywhere else in his miserable life. His hands flexed against the rough wall and the half moon over his head lit the rolling, cresting waves beneath him in flashing monochrome. The comforting smell of the briny water brought back so many memories and many of them contained Jongdae.

Jongdae’s dark curls was the beacon Chanyeol looked for every moment of every day. He’d sworn his allegiance to Jongdae years before, when they were just beginning their training as squires. Now they faced knighthood but nothing changed, Chanyeol’s loyalty never wavered.

The memories which stirred Chanyeol most, deep in the night, began to wriggle forth, escaping his control. He’d tried his damnedest to suffocate them over the months they’d been apart and they were bruised and unloved.

He could fight them no longer and released them so he could revel in their bitter joy. Their golden days together where two young men shared their dreams and their confusing passions. But no man could live with these feelings and actions, so many were condemned for their unnatural acts, but nothing about Chanyeol’s love for Jongdae felt unnatural, cursed, demon bred. Regardless of whether they were or not, the acts of childhood must be put away for the acts of manhood and that included marriage.

Chanyeol had met a woman capable of making his heart sing, not in the same way Jongdae did, but just as loudly.

He pushed himself off the damp wall and finished his round, vanishing through a low doorway and down a narrow stone stairway. His room, small and dark though it was home, warm and safe. His sword stood in the corner, his armour lay on a large chest full of everything he owned and a small box sat on the small desk he used for his studies under the narrow window. He stroked the box. Everything he’d earned and won for the last six months, now formed a golden ring so beautiful it rivalled anything a queen might wear. Or at least that is what Chanyeol hoped.

He undressed in slow deliberation, his rough woollen clothes well made by the women of the castle. Sehun’s father cared for Chanyeol like his own son and Chanyeol had both gratitude and pride Lord Oh should think him worth the effort. He lay on his small bed and stared at the black ceiling, his candle gradually vanishing. He didn’t bother with the fire, the winter night soft and mild. He heard the pounding of the sea on the cliffs below but for tonight at least they were blessed with peace.

Eventually, he slept and dreams of dark hair filled his mind, but whether they were short masculine curls or long silken tresses, Chanyeol didn’t remember.

He woke early the following day and dressed. His belly was full of snakes. He wasn’t this nervous in tournaments. He ran to the stables and began his chores. Mucking out the stable, cleaning tack, exercising the horses, then training with both sword and spear. Sehun and Chanyeol worked hard but Jongdae didn’t appear.

“Where is he?” Chanyeol asked his friend.

Sehun, the sun turning his red hair to fire, shrugged. “I don’t know.” He didn’t look at Chanyeol and although he seemed his usual affable self, Chanyeol sensed the strain. Something was off, wrong.

“Right,” came the booming voice of Sehun's father, the Captain, “for some reason you miserable bastards have half a day off. Vanish before I change my mind.”

Chanyeol grinned at Sehun and they dashed off to dump their training swords. The time had come for Chanyeol to find Yoojung.

Before they parted, Sehun pulled him to a stop. “Whatever happens this afternoon, remember, I’m here for you.” Sehun held out his arm for a formal acknowledgement of their friendship. Chanyeol frowned in confusion but grasped Sehun’s forearm in union.

“Thanks, but I think you should stop worrying, how could she say, no? I’m adorable.” Chanyeol grinned and winked.

Sehun laughed. “Many things you are, Chanyeol, adorable isn’t one of them. But who understands the minds of women?”

“I know her mind,” he said.

He went to the washroom, cleaned himself up and even shaved. He dressed in his finest clothes, the doublet a rich green and the hose a dark brown. He ran his fingers through his rough hair, brushing it back and knowing it would just tangle in the wind but hoping it would be irrelevant. Returning to the stable he tacked up Bow, the chestnut he now rode most often and rode out of the castle. He followed the path leading to the cliff and rode up onto the bluff. The sky, fine blue, cradled racing clouds. The sea, a dark morass of shifting colour with white horses rearing up on its flanks, looked as restless as he felt.

Chanyeol rode to the tortured thorn tree on the cliff top and dismounted, tying Bow to the low branches. He started to crop the grass. He paced and watched the sun. He paced back and forth wearing holes in the grass. He paced and tried to think of anything other than what he was doing on this cliff top. Time wound forwards and anticipation turned sour in his guts. He wanted to race back to the castle and find his wife to be, speak to her in public, anything but continue waiting.

Then, long after noon, Chanyeol saw the head of her small palfrey bobbing up the slope and Yoojung’s dark hair streaming out behind her in the wind. Her beauty hit Chanyeol like a hammer blow deep in his guts. He loved her. He knew it. Nothing else mattered but winning her hand and holding her to his pounding heart. Thoughts of his future king vanished under the passion he held for this paragon. Chanyeol forced them away.

When Yoojung reached him, Chanyeol held out his hands, and she silently consented to his help when dismounting. She wore the finest, softest wool he’d ever touched under his rough palms.

“Chanyeol,” her voice, as clear as her gaze, caressed his name.

“Yoojung.” He smiled gently, something he’d learned to do under her tutelage over the autumn. In fact Yoojung had managed to gentle the beast in Chanyeol more than anyone else ever had, even Sehun’s patient mother.

Yoojung pulled out of his grasp and turned to face the sea. A young woman’s bashfulness, or so Chanyeol thought. He walked to her side, took her small hand in his huge paw and touched the pouch containing her ring.

“Yoojung…” He began, but the words he’d been planning for so long fled because Yoojung turned to look at him. Her brown eyes were so different to Jongdae’s. Full of the promise of a life which held no fear or hurt. She was so innocent.

“Chanyeol,” she said and raised his hand to her lips. “I have something to tell you.” Her breath tickled his fingers.

“I have something to ask you,” he tried to head her off.

He watched tears form in her eyes and spill silently down her cheeks. He frowned in confusion.

Yoojung kissed his scarred knuckles and said, “No, let me speak first.”

Chanyeol held his tongue and dread filled his heart. His life, so dark up to the moment Jongdae rode into it, should have continued to grow brighter with the addition of the light Yoojung represented. Somehow, he didn’t think his luck would hold.

She took a deep breath, her small breast pressing against her dress. “Kim Jongdae came to my room last night,” she said very, very quietly.

Chanyeol thought the wind played tricked with him. The words sent on breezes from those who twisted the lives of honest men.

“Jongdae?” He asked more woodenly than the crooked tree beside them.

“We spent the night talking and this morning, he returned to my room. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.” Her words tumbled out in a cascade of sound. Like drops of blood that chased each other, pouring from an open wound.

“Jongdae,” he repeated. Chanyeol saw nothing around him, the day vanished into a haze.

Yoojung now looked up at him and he didn’t recognise her expression. “I am to be the queen,” she informed him. “I would ask for your blessing. I understand how much he means to you, how close you are.”

Close? Yes. Jongdae and him were close. The Prince’s lips on his. Their young strong bodies entwined on spring green grass. Yes, they were close. Jongdae knew him better than anyone Chanyeol had ever met and, until Yoojung, was the only one who could claim his heart.

He stumbled back, releasing her hands. “You are going to be his wife?” he asked without looking at her.

“I didn’t know, Chanyeol. I didn’t know how he felt, how I felt. We’d hardly spoken before but he is…” she stopped, apparently out of descriptive words for his friend. “My feelings for you have not changed, they never will, but he is just…”

Chanyeol had the words, and they were bitter. “He is just what? A king? A man of wealth and status? Not a worthless knight,” he cried out losing control of the agony searing his heart and belly. He turned to his horse and threw himself into his saddle. He jerked around and they were galloping back.

Against all the rules Chanyeol rode pell-mell over the stone bridge separating the village from the keep, the horse’s hooves sliding on the cobbles. He tore through the gate, the guards shouting at him and into the courtyard. He drove the poor beast around the corner and into the training yard.

“You miserable, bastard!” Chanyeol screamed as he leapt from the horse and raced across the sand covered area. He hit Jongdae square chest and as the bigger man Chanyeol’s weight and momentum took them to the ground. His left hand closed around Jongdae’s throat, trying to choke the life out him, while he raised his right fist to punch his face and beat him to death.

A large mass collided with Chanyeol from the side. Chanyeol just wanted blood.

“Everyone out,” Sehun bellowed. Then he grunted as Chanyeol managed to punch him in the guts. He cursed Sehun but continued to fight until he was released. Jongdae now stood, but he’d backed off. The outdoor arena was empty. Everyone had vanished, doubtless looking for the Captain before Chanyeol killed the soon to be crowned King.

Chanyeol scrambled upright and Jongdae watched him, wary and wiping a bloodied nose and lip. “You lousy son of a whoring bitch,” he spat.

“That’s my mother you are talking about,” Jongdae snarled back.

“What the hell is going on?” Sehun asked confused as to why his best friends were trying to kill each other.

Chanyeol pointed a savage finger at Jongdae. “He did it. He took Yoojung. She is to marry him.”

Sehun paled and turned his eyes to Jongdae, “You did what?”

Jongdae squared his shoulders. “She is perfect for me, for our kingdom,” he justified.

“I know,” Chanyeol screamed. “She is mine.”

The young King tried to maintain his superior edge, but Chanyeol saw it begin to crumble under his grief and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said his anger evaporating. “But she is not. She is mine. There will be other beautiful women for you, my friend. But she will make the perfect queen. Her heritage, her beauty, her wit and intelligence. I need a queen.”

“I need a wife.” Chanyeol pounded his chest, the pain too much to bear as he looked at Jongdae. He dropped to his knees in the damp sand, his voice breaking as he said, “And I need a wife to be free of you and you took her.”

Jongdae approached. Tears blurred Chanyeol’s vision. His heart lay in the filthy soil beneath his feet. Jongdae knelt in the dirt with him, caught in his anguish. His hand reached out and touched Chanyeol’s jaw. “I cannot allow you to be free,” he whispered. Chanyeol saw it then, Jongdae’s love for him, a writhing mass of tortured denial and broken promises.

A shadow crossed their bodies. “Leave him, Jongdae, you’ve done enough damage.” Sehun reached down and pulled their young King to his feet. Jongdae stumbled upright and Sehun replaced him.

Sehun helped Chanyeol stand and began muttering about other women coming into his life. These banalities flowed over Chanyeol, unheeded. He realised that his surging grief came not from Yoojung choosing another, but from Jongdae betraying him so easily.

Days vanished in a maze of chaos and hard graft. Jongdae didn’t come near Chanyeol and Chanyeol avoided Yoojung. By the mid winter festivals Chanyeol found himself in the capital for the first time. Jongdae’s father lay dead and apparently Chanyeol would be knighted during the coronation and wedding. Sehun stuck to him like horse glue and made certain he understood the ways of the city. Its vast tangle of streets were a gift to a young man and the first night they arrived Chanyeol discovered the ladies of the night in the capital were a great deal more efficient than those of his old home and there were an awful lot of them. He decided he liked cities, despite their foul odours and vast tintinnabulation. One very gifted lady received a fine ring as payment for her very inventive games.

He also discovered Sehun and him were to lead the retinue taking Jongdae down the aisle towards his new throne. During the days and nights before the final ceremony, Chanyeol watched him carefully. He grew pale, despite his smiles. His eyes held a great strain and dark circles appeared. He started to lose weight and sometimes drank even more than Chanyeol, which didn’t seem possible. Jongdae suffered, and Chanyeol suffered for him. He saw what lay in Jongdae’s heart, what really lay deep inside. He wanted freedom from this madness.

Yoojung however thrived. She grew into her new role, which raced towards her with alarming speed. Jongdae was right, she was the perfect woman to be queen. Chanyeol would never have made her happy.

The morning of the wedding he found himself hustled into Jongdae’s private chambers. The young King stood by a tall window filled with rare glass. Chanyeol fidgeted in his new clothes, delivered that morning. Rich, deep, browns and greens.

“I need your help, my friend,” Jongdae said quietly without turning.

His voice sounded thick and harsh. Chanyeol spoke with great care, they’d not been alone for a long time and their roles had changed so much. “I will always help you, Sire,” he said formally.

“Please, don’t call me that, not you of all people,” Jongdae said, the pain in his words bit hard at Chanyeol’s heart. The young King’s head bowed, his hands flexed. The tension in his shoulders looked like torture.

Chanyeol caved, his need to protect Jongdae at all costs drawing him to his side, he crossed the room to his friend in three strides. “What’s wrong?” He asked laying a hand on Jongdae’s back.

Jongdae turned and threw himself into his surprised arms. The latter’s body trembled as he tightly held his knight, burying his head in his chest. Chanyeol wrapped his arms around his back and kissed his dark curls. He smelt of spiced perfumes and fine soap.

They stood like that for a long time, not moving but welded together and Chanyeol’s heart dragged itself out of the dirt. It came back to him in the capital and he held it briefly once more. He would lose it again to Jongdae and Yoojung. He believed it as well as he knew his own cursed name. But in that moment he held it long enough to forgive his friend any and all hurts.

When Jongdae pulled away, his eyes were clear and his breathing even. He raised a fragile smile. He fiddled with Chanyeol’s velvet doublet and didn’t look at him as he spoke, “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you suffer for days.”

“I should not have taken her from you,” Jongdae admitted at last.

“You should have. She would be wasted as my wife. She is made to be queen.”

Jongdae lay his hands flat over his chest. “I’ve missed you.”

Chanyeol ached to reach out and kiss him. He buried the hopeless wish under layers of convention and propriety. He buried it under the throne of the kingdom. “I’ve missed you too,” he managed to keep his voice even.

“Let’s not argue again. I need you in my life too badly. I need you to be by my side.”

He smiled. “Your shadow?”

“My sword,” Jongdae clarified. “This means I’ve chosen an insignia for you and gifted you lands.”

“I don’t need lands, Jongdae. I just need to serve you as your faithful companion, friend, servant and knight,” Chanyeol said with conviction.

The latter gazed at him. “I have to give you titles.”

“I’ll earn them. Just make me a knight and I will earn everything for you. Keep it all safe for me. I am your sword arm, Jongdae. I cannot own anything for myself because I am a part of you.”

Chanyeol stopped talking. He hadn’t meant to say so much. Be so honest about how his heart wept for Jongdae every moment of every day.

Tears filled Jongdae’s eyes as he continued to stare at him. “You will be my Champion.”

“I will be when I’ve won the title by force of arms.”

Jongdae nodded. By ceding all the lands he might give to Chanyeol through winning tournaments, back to the throne. Chanyeol gave Jongdae permission to gift him everything he needed to control in the country but couldn’t own directly because of politics. Jongdae could give it to him but Chanyeol would return it to him making him the most loyal of his men.

“Then I will look forward to the tournament tomorrow,” Jongdae said.

Chanyeol realised they still held each other closely. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to. The energy between them changed with terrifying speed.

“Chanyeol,” Jongdae breathed his name and swayed towards him. Their lips brushed against each other and their breath mingled.

A knock on the door and Sehun’s voice from outside asked permission to enter.

Chanyeol jack-knifed like a badly loosed arrow. Jongdae cursed and Sehun walked into the room. His voice died as he looked at them both. He sensed the atmosphere in the room but he did not speak the words which could damn them and Chanyeol silently thanked him for it.

Instead, Sehun said, “Jongdae, it is time for you to marry.”

For the first time Chanyeol noticed Jongdae’s clothing. He wore the kingdom’s colours of deep blue and gold, the rich velvets and silks hugging his firm body and highlighting his natural beauty. Chanyeol turned away, unable to meet Sehun’s eye.

Forever the smooth diplomat, Jongdae said graciously, “Then lead the way.”

Sehun returned to the door, Jongdae followed him and Chanyeol brought up the rear. Jongdae passed him and gently laid a hand on his arm. “Be careful, Chanyeol. You need to protect yourself, not just him.”

He nodded but didn’t reply. They were now swept into the glorious spectacle of wedding and coronation. Chanyeol saw none of it, registered nothing. The feel of Jongdae’s lips brushing his own branded into his mind.

Then Chanyeol laid eyes on Yoojung.

The most perfect, beautiful, goddess he had ever seen. Her eyes caught his for a long moment and his heart broke. The heart so recently returned to him, snapped in two. One half for Jongdae, one half for Yoojung. Would he ever have peace again?

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think on Twitter @6121AU and check out my other works while at it :)


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